by C. M. Owens
His inky black hair is tousled and part of it is flopped over his forehead. One hand is behind his head, while the other is under the sheet, possibly resting on the part of his body I’ve been trying to avoid.
Sighing, I ease into bed, trying not to wake him, but the second I close my eyes, two arms come around me and he presses a kiss against my shoulder before mumbling something in his sleep about games and lies.
His warm breath fans my shoulder as he gets still again, and I try not to enjoy the way he feels against me. Which is impossible, since I sort of love it. Even in his sleep, he holds me like he actually wants me, and that internal war rages on.
Chapter 18
JAX
Four days. Four long days.
She’s played this period card for four days, and she’s dodged all my advances like a pro. I figured she’d have broken down and spilled the truth by now, because Bo is shy. Shy girls panic when you come on strong. Which is why I’m not fond of them.
Hell, the mention of sex has her squirming.
But she’s a fucking fort of stubbornness, because she’s sticking with this ruse.
So what are her motives for this game? I still don’t know. It’s obvious she wants me, but she doesn’t want to want me. She also doesn’t seem to want anything from me, either. So why the fucking hell go through with this charade?
Why is her father just as intent on keeping up the lie as she is? Why is Helen just as deceptive? What does anyone have to gain from this entire stupid thing?
All I get are more questions every day and no answers.
My family has no idea. They still think Bo is Bora—my wild girl. Bo is not a wild one. Nope. In fact, if I met her on the street, I’d keep walking because she’s too sweet. Well, on the surface anyway. It’s not like I’d know she would lie to a guy on a daily basis for no truly apparent reason.
Maybe they’re all bored and they get off on shit like this?
I don’t know, and it’s driving me crazy.
I keep waiting for her to make her move… To reveal her big ulterior motive… Possibly go into an evil monologue about her diabolical plan. But nothing.
For now, I’m sticking with the bored theory. Rich people tend to get bored easily, and after crunching some numbers on her possible net worth, I’m almost positive she’s richer than some of the Sterlings. Which I never thought possible.
By comparison, I’m a broke motherfucker, and I thought I had money. I’m not a Sterling, but I live comfortably. Now I feel like all my earnings are chump change.
“Feel better?” I ask Bo as I walk up behind her.
She goes stiff against me when I push my front against her back, and I soak in the feel of her skin the bikini exposes. She may be playing an unknown game, but I still like feeling her.
How I ever even thought she was Bora? I don’t know. She’s softer, and she smells so much sweeter. Tastes sweeter. Acts sweeter…
But she’s not sweet. Sweet girls don’t do crazy shit like this.
Sweet isn’t my usual type either. Neither is shy. I like it on occasion, but too much of it gets old fast, because sweet girls get their hearts broken. Sweet girls get attached. Sweet girls fall head-over-heels.
None of the above is what I’m ready for at this point in my life.
Bo is an enigma because she’s a walking contradiction of sweet and possibly evil.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “Thank you for asking.”
“You wouldn’t be dodging me, would you?” I ask, nipping her earlobe with my teeth.
“You wouldn’t only ever think of sex, would you?” she asks in a bitter tone, but then she goes stiff again as though she didn’t mean to say that aloud.
Frowning, I glance at the clock.
What’s up with that question?
“Nope. Just know that’s what you like from me,” I tell her, reminding her what her sister likes from me.
Her lips tense, and she looks away as though she’s a little annoyed about that. Well, tough. I don’t give a damn if she’s annoyed. Maybe if she gets mad enough, she’ll explode and reveal all her secrets, then I can move the hell on and forget about this bizarre madness.
Lifetime movies have even played into my theories—never mind. Ignore that.
I’d think this was some sort of sister envy madness where one twin tries to take over the other twin’s life… But Bo doesn’t seem to really want me even when I make it too damn easy for her. Again, nothing makes sense.
She takes a deep breath, and I swear I hear her counting to ten. Finally, she turns to face me.
“Can we just talk a little? We haven’t done much of that.”
Talk. Why does she want to talk? Maybe if she asks questions, I’ll get closer to whatever it is she really wants out of this.
“Sure. Talking sounds great. How about we start with a little joke?”
She flashes a smile at me, and the smartass twin joke I have goes right out the window, because I don’t want that smile to go away. Shit. This is messed up.
“Okay,” she says seriously, expecting a joke now.
I glance up, and an idea strikes.
“What’s worse than one rockstar in a speedo?”
She snickers before rolling her eyes and answering, “Two rockstars in a speedo.”
I laugh with her as Mick and Vince walk down to the beach in front of the massive living room windows.
“I’d like to find the fucker who created the speedo and punch him in the face,” I add, shaking my head when Mick digs out his wedgie.
“I’d like for you to find them as well. But what if it was a girl?”
“Then I’d let you punch her,” I tell her, to which she laughs again.
“You’ll have to teach me how to throw a punch.”
I start to tell her about the fight Bora bragged about, but I decide to cut Bora out of the equation. This is Bo. Whatever Bo is getting out of this may have to do with Bora, but talking about her just feels… Weird. And pretending I’m talking about Bora to Bora instead of Bo is just confusing as fuck.
“I’ll teach you,” I say instead.
She beams up at me with that smile again, and I do something stupid. I kiss her. Yeah. I told myself that wouldn’t happen anymore, but that smile… Damn that smile.
She kisses me back, which seems to be within whatever boundaries she has, and she moans into my mouth as our tongues dance with each other’s. Really shouldn’t be kissing a complete stranger…
A cough comes from behind us, and I break the kiss with shaky breaths and conflicting thoughts as my eyes move to meet my father’s. He’s smiling as he walks over to grab a cup of coffee, and Bo blushes before turning around again and messing with some sandwich bags full of sand.
“What are you doing?” I ask her, watching as she continues on.
“It’s my dream foundation gift. I do it every time I’m here. Same for Dad,” she says absently.
I start to ask what that means, but Helen walks in and interrupts.
“Carmen is stopping by. Jane is really excited. Thought you’d want to know.”
Bo lights up, and a wide grin breaks across her face. “With her husband?” she asks.
“Yes, and the newest member of their family. If they’re coming, everyone will probably show up, which means a lot of non-alcoholic beverages and your father trying to build a fire.”
Bo giggles, and the sound washes over me before she races off. My brow furrows in confusion until I notice Helen watching me.
“Carmen?” I muse.
“A very close friend of the family. You’re going to learn some things tonight, Mr. Marshall. Hope you’re ready for a bonfire.”
That’s a little cryptic, and I swear she’s smirking as she walks off.
Annoyed with the situation and myself, I walk over to join my dad.
“It feels like the families have known each other for years after less than a week,” Dad says idly.
If only he knew the truth. We don’t know the
m at all. A house full of “servants” is just weird. Especially since this is just a vacation home. Bo pretending to be her twin sister? Also very weird. No one acting like she has a twin and going along with the lie? Epically weird.
And all of the said servants won’t mention the “sister’s” name… As though they’ve been instructed not to speak. My mother merely asked Jane what Bo’s sister’s name was, and Jane locked down like she was saving a pot of gold from thieving bridge trolls.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ask Vince for any family information,” was her immediate, somewhat rehearsed reply.
My eyes drop to the sand bags just as Jane walks in and collects them.
“What are those for?” I ask her.
She beams up at me before taking them and putting them inside a cooler.
“Bo sends bags of sand to various people around the world.”
“That’s… I’m not sure what to say,” Dad says, moving beside me. “Why would she do that?”
“Because a lot of people are too ill to travel and have always wanted to put their toes in the sand in Hawaii, Mr. Marshall. Or Bora Bora. Or Mexico… You get the idea. The Jaggons-slash-Brendon family own a dream channel on the web. People always help each other out by sending sand to those who may never get the chance to travel because of an illness that confines them. It may not sound like much, but for some, it means the world. It’s one of the family’s many foundations.”
She turns and sashays away, while I lean up on my elbows, drinking in what she just said. Bo—my own personal enigma—is also a humanitarian?
“Your mother really will be pushing you down the aisle if she hears that,” Dad states flatly, but I can tell he’s trying not to smile.
“Bo isn’t what she seems,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been watching her like you’re waiting on her to mess up. Any particular reason why? She seems really incredible. And sw—”
“Do not say sweet,” I grumble in interruption.
He snickers while shrugging. “Very well then. So what’s going on?”
I start to tell him, but then I worry he’ll just confront her to “nip the problem in the ass” and I’ll never get real answers. I’ll only get manufactured ones that will magically explain everything.
I don’t want bullshit. I want the truth. I want to know what the hell is getting me played like this.
“Nothing. I’ll fill you in if I figure it out,” I say cryptically. I also grab a few of those zipper bags to fill up with sand.
Chapter 19
BO
Torture Journal. That’s what I’ll call it. I’ll make a torture journal that lists every detail of what Jax has been doing to me for the past four days.
Yep.
Right now, those seductive eyes are trained on me as he walks out of the ocean, letting the water drip down his skin-tight rash-guard shirt. He has the surfboard tucked under his arm, and he runs a hand through his dark, wet hair.
He looks like a commercial—for male and female wet dreams. Yeah…
Breathe, Bo. Don’t drool.
I wipe my chin because I’m doing what I’m supposed to not be doing, and then I finally breathe.
It’s painful.
A lot of things are painful these days.
Jax strips out of his wet shirt, smirking in my direction. I wonder how long I can fake being on my period. Would they send me to the doctor if I pretended it was three weeks long?
Shit. I hate my sister.
Smiling bitterly, I stand, grab my purse, and go to change my fake tampon.
I need a drink, a massage, and a vibrator. And not necessarily in that order.
My life is so screwed up.
One thing I will not be using is the fire crotch gel. In fact, I threw away all the samples. Mostly because I never wanted Jax to learn about the crazy going on in the bedroom while I was pretending to battle Mother Nature.
The sun will be setting soon, we’ve just finished dinner, and Dad and Javier are setting up a bonfire. Well, Javier is doing it. Dad is mostly just talking his ears off since Javier won’t let Dad near it.
He’s a bit of a hazard around fires. Things seem to spontaneously combust around him.
Ironic, huh? Considering how we ended up in this house.
After washing the sand off my feet, I head inside and brush my teeth, since I have no other real reason to be in the bathroom. As soon as I walk out, I slam into a wet, hard chest, and look up to see a smiling Jax.
“You finished with Aunt Flow yet?” he asks as humor dances in his eyes.
I’m sick of faking my period. Really, I am.
“Actually, yes,” I tell him. The surprise that registers on his face actually intrigues me. Why does he seem so surprised?
“Well then,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Well then,” I echo, basking in the utter awkwardness that is in the air suddenly.
“Feel like going for a walk?” he asks, surprising me.
I thought I was going to have to do some crafty sex dodging, but a walk? Perfect.
“Love to.”
He seems different now, when seconds ago it seemed like he was trying to trap me. Now he looks as though he was just caught in a trap.
He doesn’t take my hand, he doesn’t touch me, and he doesn’t make any sexual comments like he has since my “period” started. Right now, he looks a little nervous.
“So… I still feel like I know nothing about you,” he says while staring straight ahead as we walk out to the beach once again.
“Ditto,” I murmur.
His lips twitch slightly, hinting at a smile, but it’s gone almost just as fast.
“You’ve met my family. You know I own a gym. You know what my place looks like…”
“You’ve met my father. You know I own Pretty Posh—well, partly own. You’re in one of my places…”
I smile when he does, and he snickers lightly.
“How old are you?” I hate to ask it, because Bora probably has, but I can’t help it.
“Twenty-six. Two years older than you,” he answers without hesitation. “Viv just turned thirty, so she’s my older sister.” He pauses as his lips twitch. “I guess you really don’t know much about me, huh?”
“I know you love red meat. I know you drink red wine with a meal, even though you’d prefer a beer, but your mother would freak out if you had a beer instead of wine. By the way, you’d enjoy wine more with a meal if you drank a wine that complemented the course. Anyway, I also know you love cardio, even though you gripe about it. I know you care a lot about your sister, even though you mostly give her the cold shoulder,” I go on.
His eyebrows go up as though he’s surprised, and his lips part ever so slightly.
“Why do you cold shoulder her so much?” I ask.
He clears his throat while shrugging. “Habit, really. She’s cool when her husband isn’t around, but she acts like him when he is around. She’s always been a sponge that mimics her company. Half the time I don’t think she really knows who she is.”
It’s probably the most personal he’s gotten since we arrived.
“My mother is a lot like that. Or was,” I admit. “When she was younger,” I add. “She’s shown me pictures of her various phases that weren’t really her phases. After she had us, she started finding herself.”
“Us?” he asks, immediately pouncing on that as his eyes snap to mine.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Yeah… Um… Me then my sister,” I prattle on.
I expect him to ask her name, and I silently curse myself for the lie I’ll have to tell.
“What’s she like now?” he asks instead, sending relief through my body.
“Mom? She’s great. I talk to her a lot when she’s not traveling. She has a house phone, but she doesn’t have a cell phone. She’s a bit of a hippie and doesn’t like a lot of technology. She never knows where she’s going until she gets there, so it’s rare I get
to speak to her. She seems to be traveling more and more.”
He smiles like he enjoys that answer. “Free spirit.”
“Very free. Dad was the one and only man she ever loved. Even though neither of them believed in marriage, they considered themselves husband and wife. In the end, his fame was too much for her, especially after having children. After that, she raised us, and they stayed close friends. She always took us to his concerts when he was nearby, and she always took us to him when we met covertly. Until we… I mean, until I was sixteen. Then she let us do our own thing while she started traveling.”
“You were just sixteen? Who took care of you?” he asks, confused.
“We took care of ourselves,” I say with a shrug. “I was more responsible than both of my parents by the time I was ten,” I add, laughing lightly. “Dad would swing by and carry us off during our breaks from school, and we’d go somewhere private like this place. But other than that, we were on our own. Mom never would have left if she’d been worried, and she did come home on occasion to spend time with us. It wasn’t like she abandoned us or anything.”
He frowns like he doesn’t like that answer, but he can’t understand. He’s used to the Leave It To Beaver conventional type of family. I had a flower child mother and a rockstar father. Nothing about my life has been conventional. You learn to go with it.
My parents are the type to give you anything you need except for their time. Bora is the same way. Their time is their time, and they’re selfish with it, even though they expect me to be free and available at the drop of a hat. Not that it bothers me. It doesn’t. Really, it doesn’t.
“How is owning a gym?” I ask lamely when the silence stretches on and my thoughts turn into a ramble.
He snorts while shaking his head, probably trying not to comment on what a terrible question that is.
“It’s fun. Actually, it’s perfect for me. I used to just be a personal trainer, but I’ve scaled back on my client list and just stuck to some of the higher profile ones since opening the gym.”
